


Winter's Heart

by LadyWynne



Series: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Birth complications, Childbirth, Extreme AU, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, minor problems conceiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-17 21:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: After a couple years of marriage Sansa and Sandor are content at Clegane's Keep, and expecting.





	1. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could really be a stand-alone if you just want the warm fluffies!

Sansa hums happily as she sits before the crackling fire in her solar, waiting for Sandor to return from a hunt. She is warm and content as she rubs her round belly lightly over her soft woolen dress. She loves being with child, and she smiles as she remembers how Sandor’s face lit up at the news. _You are so loved already, little one._  

The babe hadn’t come easily. Sansa suffered two years of turmoil when she did not conceive right away.  Maybe the kick she took from Gregor damaged her somehow?  Sandor had tried to reassure her that it could still happen or that he didn’t care if it didn’t.

“I have you little bird,” he would rasp softly if he caught her crying. “You are more than enough.” Sandor would pull her close and pet her hair and kiss her tears away.

Sansa would try to be brave and smile for him. He was a wonderful husband to her, and she wanted to give him everything. She had been taught that it was her duty to provide an heir. It was more than that though. Sansa wanted children and Sandor deserved them. She wanted to give him the family life he’d never known, to show him every facet of the love in this world. But she needn’t have worried, the gods saw fit to bless them at last, and now Sansa is glad of the time she and Sandor share together before the babe comes.

Sansa stands and moves to the window where she watches fat white flakes lazily falling from the grey sky. As she looks out over the godswood she speaks to their growing child. “This is a song of the North, sweet one. It is a lullaby old nan would sing us on evenings spent before the fire.” She begins then, her voice lilting and clear.

_Winter is coming, wee bonnie, wee bonnie,_

_The snows they are falling, down from the sky._

_The cold winds are rising, my dear one, my dear one,_

_The night it is falling, but never you cry._

_The pack it is prowling, good baby, good baby,_

_The wolves they are howling, up at the sky._

_No need for weeping, my wolfling, my wolfling,_

_Bravely we’re singing, the north’s lullaby._

_The watchman is riding, beloved, beloved,_

_A sword he is wielding, the night to defy._

_His horn he is blowing, my darling, my darling,_

_His brothers responding, on them we rely._

_The Wall is enduring, dear sweetling, dear sweetling,_

_Safe we’re abiding, warm well-fed and dry._

As Sansa begins the last verse she feels arms encircle her, cold from the outside, and she lays her hands on them. He brings the winter in with him, snow and pine and wind and horse. As she leans back into his muscular chest he carefully cradles her round belly in his large hands. She doesn’t turn, but continues singing as she feels Sandor kiss her crown.                                  

_So, rest in the hearth-light, wee bonnie, wee bonnie,_

_And love will surround you, whilst winter pass by._

The last note trails off.

“That was beautiful, little bird,” a deep voice rasps after a moment. She tilts her head back to receive a soft kiss and smiles. As they stand together the babe moves. Sansa feels the soft flutters and kicks, and she can tell Sandor does too.

“Our winter babe grows strong, my love.”

“Aye. His mother sees to that.” Sansa feels pride at the praise. She turns toward him for a longer kiss, grateful that Sandor makes sure she feels special and secure every single day.


	2. Perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for baby Clegane to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still plenty of fluff in this chapter but there is also drama. Warnings for birth complications.

Sandor takes one last look at his gorgeous wife, sleeping soundly in their bed before he heads out. Sansa has become even lovelier as their child grows.  She glows from within with happiness and the red hair he loves so much is especially thick and lustrous. He knows she is becoming a bit uncomfortable as the weeks pass by, the healthy fullness of her face and body is tending more toward swelling, and she seems to always be short of breath. It does nothing to change his opinion of her.  She could never be more beautiful to him than great with his child.

As happy as the thought of Sansa as a mother makes him, Sandor is aware of the dangers of childbearing. He worries constantly. _Little bird should stay abed all bloody day._ Sansa had flatly refused a confinement of any kind, pronouncing the practice ridiculous, and citing the many smallfolk women who work right up until their babes are born. _Stubborn woman. I shouldn’t give in to her._ The maester says the babe could come as soon as a sennight, so Sandor intends to press the issue of Sansa overexerting herself when he returns. His concern for her health is the reason for yet another hunt. He is determined that she have fresh food, even in the midst of winter. Winter children are known to be smaller than their summer siblings.  His sister Elinor was a winter child, and very small for a Clegane. He won’t allow Sansa to be frail before her time comes, nor their babe to be weak.

Striding into the yard in the dawn light Sandor puts his concerns aside.  Being outdoors lifts his spirits. It feels good to be doing something for his family. He whistles and Lady comes bounding over. The grey direwolf is an adult now, her ears reaching Sandor’s shoulder. Lady likes to join the hunts, and she often brings her kills to share. The direwolf seems to understand her mistress’s state, for she stays close to Sansa on other occasions and has grown increasingly protective.  Sandor is glad of it. He scratches Lady’s head before mounting Stranger. After taking one last glance around to make sure his party is in order, he puts his heels into the horse and makes for the forest.

Sansa

Sansa wakes slowly. She has taken to sleeping in as her time nears.  She isn’t exhausted in the same way she was in the first months, but she is up so often during the night that she has a hard time getting fully rested. She sees that Sandor is gone and carefully rises. She wishes she could have seen him off, but she is not surprised he didn’t wake her. 

As Sansa sits on the edge of her bed she feels her stomach tighten.  It doesn’t hurt exactly, but it is quite noticeable. She sits still until it passes and then calls for her lady’s maid to help her dress.  _Perhaps I will check in with Maester Barger today._ The man has been seeking her attention for weeks, wishing to speak about the birth, but Sansa always hurries through her meetings with him.  She feels well, and there is much to be done before her little one arrives.

After dressing Sansa breaks her fast with simple tea and toast.  She goes over all that needs doing that day. Her duties seem never-ending sometimes and she must also prepare for her mother’s visit.  Lady Catelyn is coming to be with her when the baby arrives.  _The stores need to be inventoried, and the hall is in desperate need of a good scrubbing before mother arrives.  Mayhaps I will be able to finish stitching the babe’s last sleeping gown today. Oh, I do hope I have time to bind the tapestry for the nursery as well.  It will be chill without a wall covering._ Sansa had begun the tapestry as soon as she found out she was with child.  It featured three dogs romping happily and the Clegane words: Loyalty Courage Strength. As her thoughts race her stomach tightens again, but she ignores it and her mind is on to other things as soon as the feeling passes. Sansa stands and begins her day by heading down to the kitchens.

Sandor

Late in the morning, Sandor returns to the Keep. He is satisfied. They brought down a large buck, and combined with fish from the White Knife and the vegetables Lady Catelyn will bring from Winterfell’s glass gardens, the Keep should be set for the next moon. He dismounts and issues a few curt orders.  He would like to train with the men, but decides to check on Sansa before going to the yard.

 _Little bird is probably balanced on a table trying to dust the sconces._ Indeed, he does find her in the hall, vigorously sweeping and directing the servants.  Sandor gives her handmaid a glare as he passes the girl, and she ducks her head. _Useless twit._ He would have replaced her weeks ago if he weren’t concerned about upsetting Sansa. His wife turns to him with a smile as he approaches. When he reaches her, he grabs the broom from her hand and lets it clatter to the floor.  The hall falls silent.

“Sandor,” she starts to scold him softly, but he cuts her off.

“What are you doing, little bird? The babe is almost here. You should be resting.”

“I will,” she promises, before rising on her toes to kiss his cheek in welcome.  He grudgingly leans over to allow it. “I just need to get things in order before mother arrives tomorrow.”

“Seven hells, woman. That’s what the servants are for!”  His voice rises again and Sansa looks around pointedly at the still-frozen servants.

“Please my lord, can we talk later?”

Sandor takes a breath but holds his ground. “Come wife. We’ll talk now.” He holds out his arm for her, but pauses in annoyance when she doesn’t take it right away. Instead, Sansa stands perfectly still, her face slightly pinched. Sandor grips her elbow in concern, but her paralysis seems to pass after only a moment and she quickly takes his arm to go.

They exit the hall together. Sandor walks slowly with shortened strides to match Sansa’s. After a moment passes he reaches over to give her hand a squeeze. “Little bird, you do too much. Most highborn ladies would have taken to their chambers two moons past.”

Sansa looks up at him. “There is just so much to do.”

“Whatever needs doing the steward will handle,” Sandor replies firmly. “You must conserve your strength.”

He thinks she will give in, but then her mouth draws into a hard line. “But Sandor, I am perfectly…”

He stops and turns to face her, releasing her arm, and leaning down to look her in the eye. “No Sansa. I want you strong. I want the babe strong. I don’t know much about childbed but I know it is not easy.” He hesitates, looking away briefly before bringing his grey eyes back to meet her own. “I love you, Sansa. You must stay in our chambers and rest. Promise me.”

Sansa’s shoulders drop in defeat and she nods. “Of course, Sandor. You have my word.”

Satisfied, he takes her arm again and they start up the stairs of the family tower. He goes slowly but near the top he feels Sansa halt beside him. Turning to her, he sees the same drawn expression she wore in the hall.

“Sansa, what is it?” When she doesn’t answer he uneasily moves closer to her side. She holds up a hand for him to wait, and after a moment she releases a long breath and straightens.

“It is nothing, love. I’ve felt the pains on and off for days.”

“Days?” he asks, aghast. “Sansa, why didn’t you tell me?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “I didn’t want to worry you. Maester Barger said they often happen and it means nothing.” She hesitates before going on. “Lately though…” 

After a moment he squeezes her shoulder to bring her back to him. Looking up, Sansa responds. “Only today they seem to be getting worse. Now, I have to stop moving when the pain comes. This last instance was the first time I couldn’t get any words out.”

Sandor stares at her a moment in disbelief before bending to scoop her up, carrying her easily despite the babe. _Hells! Pain for days and now so bad she can’t bloody speak. Has no one been watching her? I’ll skin that maester alive._

He deposits her on the bed in the little-used lady’s chamber that connects with the larger bed chamber. “Stay,” he growls before returning briefly to the solar.

The cleaning maid they passed is frozen in shock. “Woman, find Lady Clegane’s useless handmaids and then fetch Maester Barger.” The girl is not used to being addressed by the Lord directly and she stands shaking for a moment too long.

“Now!” he roars, out of patience.

As she hurries out he returns to Sansa’s side, sitting on the bed beside her. Sansa reaches out a trembling hand and takes his, looking up at him with big blue eyes.

“Oh Sandor, do you think it’s happening? Now? Today?”

“Aye love. I do.”

\---

Sansa labors long. At first, after she is settled and her hair braided back, she talks with him, but as the day turns toward evening he can see Sansa is growing tired.  The pains come so often that she can barely rest before another one hits her. He never leaves her side, holding her hand, and wishing to take some of her pain on himself when a wave comes.

As the sun sets Sansa looks up at him with a sweaty brow and he sees a hint of panic in her eyes. “It hurts, Sandor. I don’t know if I can do it.”

He leans close and tries to soothe her. “I know, little bird. Relax. The maester says that will help. Hold onto me now.” As he sees her little body contracting again his heart near breaks, but he stays strong for her sake, murmuring encouragements until it passes.

As her head drops back he grabs the maester’s robes. “How much longer?”

The man glances from Sansa to him. “She still has work to do, my lord. A first babe can be long in coming.”

Sandor looks at his sweet wife’s pale face, as she lies with her eyes closed.

_Gods._

\---

Several hours later the babe arrives.  Sandor supports Sansa’s back as she pushes a final time, and watches in awe as the babe comes forth.

“My lord, my lady, you have a son,” the maester announces with a smile.

Sandor lowers Sansa gently against her pillows and tenderly pushes the wet strands of red hair back from her face. “A son, Sansa!” he rasps, kissing her brow. “You did so well, little bird. You are as brave as any knight.” He tries to jape lightly but she doesn’t respond, instead her eyes travel toward where the maester is fussing.  Only when a piercing cry rends the air does Sansa finally relax and a smile ghosts across her face.

The maester shuffles back over then and Sandor’s eyes are fixed on the little bundle in his arms.  When the man reaches the bed, he seems to quicken his pace, hurriedly passing the babe to Sandor.

Sandor takes the child carefully, tears stinging his eyes. He can cradle the entire head and back of his firstborn in one large hand. The babe is tiny with cheeks bright red from his birth and soft dark wisps of hair.  The little one’s eyes are open and Sandor stares at his mirror image before leaning over to kiss his wife. He holds the boy up for her to see.

“He is beautiful, little bird,” his voice breaks, “a strong son.”

Sansa gives him an exhausted smile.  Her deep blue eyes are soft with love and she never turns away from watching him with the babe.

Finally looking closely at his wife, he is alarmed.  Sansa is pale as the snow and there are dark bruises under her eyes. As he watches those same eyes flutter closed. It is at that moment he first notices the unmistakable smell of blood in the air, and from outside, Lady howls.

“Maester!” he calls. Sandor shifts the babe into one arm and grips Sansa’s hand. “Maester!” he roars again, but the man is already there.

“Move away, my lord, and let us tend her.”

“Fuck you. What’s wrong?”

Used to his lord’s temper the man ignores him and keeps working. He is quiet for a long while and Sandor feels his anxiety rising.

“Well?” he asks brusquely.

The maester glances at him. “Your lady wife is very weak, my lord.”

“I can bloody well see that!”

The man stops moving and faces him, “The birth was difficult. After the child came forth Lady Sansa lost far too much blood. Thank the Mother, the bleeding has stopped for the moment.” The man hesitates, then speaks softly. “It could go either way now, my lord. It is in the hands of the gods.”

 _Either way._ He stares at Sansa’s still face for a long moment.

“Please, my lord,” the maester begs, “We must clean and tend her.”

Rising and stepping back as maids come forward to help the maester, Sandor watches stunned until the soft movements of the child rouse him. Taking the babe, he goes into the lord’s bed chamber and paces, intuitively bouncing the little one as he walks.

 _She never even got to hold him. What name did she choose?_ Staring at the child in his arms, Sandor is suddenly wracked with guilt.  He did this to her. _She wanted a babe to please me._ He knows it is illogical, that Sansa wanted children for herself as well; but in this moment, he cannot help but blame himself.

Sandor is suddenly enraged. His arms begin to shake and he quickly lowers the babe into a waiting cradle.  Roaring, he slams his fists down onto a table. It crashes to the floor along with its contents. The child screams out at the noise and he hears maids rush in.

“My lord?” one timidly asks, “Is all well?”

He whirls and starts to shout at the girl, but stops at the sight of his son, new to the world, crying in fright of his father already.  His mind flashes back to the boy he was, cowering in fear of the elder Cleganes. Angry and lost as he is, Sandor consciously loosens his muscles. He knows the babe is not to blame, nor does he want to terrify him. Sansa would not want that. Turning to the maid he speaks as calmly as he can.

“No girl, all is not well.” He spits out, then takes a deep breath. “Watch the babe.”

Sandor strides out of the bedchamber. He takes in the sight of his little bird, so frail looking on sheets covered in red, before retreating. He doesn’t know where he is going, and he is so angry. His first thought is to head to the stables, to Stranger, but his feet go instead to the godswood. 

Soon, Sandor stops before the weirwood in the very place Sansa visited daily to beseech the gods for their child.  He stands in the moonlight scowling, wordlessly willing the old gods he doesn’t believe in to see him. He trembles, caught between a desire to beg and bark, finally growling out furiously, “Why?! Why, you buggering cunts! Why answer her only to take her? Don’t steal her from me. I need her, and the lad needs a mother.”

After a tense moment Sandor slumps in defeat. “Please.” He realizes his pleading is foolish.  Death happens every day, as he understands better than most, and the old gods do not intervene. Overcome, he doesn’t know how long he waits unmoving in the snow. Eventually he is aware of Lady close beside him. When the great direwolf begins licking and pushing him, he makes his way back to Sansa.

 

 


	3. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Clegane has come into the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to leave anyone hanging on this one. : )
> 
> Also I feel compelled to add that it is not safe for a baby to sleep in the same bed as you.

Sansa wakes confused. Her eyes wander dazedly and she wonders what all the servants are doing in her chambers. Then she remembers. _The babe. Where is my babe? Where is Sandor?_ She tries to rise, then to speak, but she cannot.  She is freezing and begins to tremble all over. Just as she starts to wonder if anyone realizes she is awake, Sandor is there. His scarred face fills her vision and tears leak out of her eyes to pool in her ears.

“Sansa!” he rasps, and she feels him take her hand.

“Sansa, my little bird.” He says in relief.

She finally manages her own rasp. “The babe?”

“He is fine, love. Never fear.” Sansa feels his warm hand caressing her brow and cheek as she closes her eyes again.

\---

By midmorning, Sansa is sitting up. She is weak, but so glad to finally be alone with her family. Sandor walks over and gently places their babe in her arms, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket Sansa made. Then he sits next to her at the head of the bed, wraps his arm around her, and pulls her close. Sansa coos at their sweet boy, examining his little fingers and toes. She smooths back his soft, wavy black hair and takes in his grey eyes.  He regards her earnestly in return.

Finally, she turns to Sandor, and gives him a slow tender kiss. When they part he looks at her lovingly and strokes her auburn hair. She knows her husband was shaken deeply by the experience of the night before. He is exhausted, but he has barely left her side.

Sansa looks up at the warrior beside her and smiles, “We have a son, Sandor. He looks like you.” 

Sandor frowns at that and Sansa giggles.

“Have you chosen a name?” he rasps.

“Yes,” Sansa touches the babe’s tiny fist. “I like Jedrek. It means strong. I thought that fitting for a Clegane.”

Sandor looks thoughtful for a moment, “Aye. Jedrek it is, but not for the Cleganes.” His arm tightens around her again. “He will be Jedrek in honor of his lady mother.”

Sansa doesn’t know what to say, so she tilts her head back to kiss him again as her eyes glisten with happiness.

\---

When Lady Catelyn arrives an hour later she enters to find Sandor and Sansa fast asleep in the large bed. A space has been cleared out for the babe between them, and Sansa’s hand rests lightly on her son.

 


End file.
